


In which SOMEBODY indulges in the sinful art of self-insert

by Miki_and_company



Series: Will they?(they will) (but it'll take forever) [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (very unrealistic), Bad French, Bad Writing, Fanfiction writing, M/M, Pining, Satire, Self-Indulgent, cliches, extreme cheese, funnel fic, karkat thinks he's a writer, ridiculous sex scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:58:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7422607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miki_and_company/pseuds/Miki_and_company
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat doesn't only read and watch very cheesy romance, he also writes it. And sometimes it involves himself and his friend Dave. Fucking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which SOMEBODY indulges in the sinful art of self-insert

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most ridiculous thing I've written, I think. Even ironically, I'm not sure it gets a pass. warning: It'll probably melt your brains. Enjoy anyway.

Karkat swayed gently on his desk chair, fingers fiddling with the cords of his earphones, biting his lips, trying one last time to tell himself he wasn’t going to do what he was about to do. The open, blank word page on his computer, however, told another story.  
Okay. This thing, and related scenarios, had played more or less voluntarily in his head for over a week now, and he realized that if he wasn’t to write it, it would stay like that for a while. It wasn’t bad per say, he thought, if it didn’t involve his crushing infatuation for his best friend he probably wouldn’t even have a problem with putting it on paper. But if it wasn’t about them, it just wasn’t the same. So he was set on writing it. Who would read it besides him anyway?  
He tried to crack his fingers, with little success, and let them dance on the keyboard.  
_~~I am Karkat Vantas and I~~_  
_~~I am an American student who~~_  
_~~Of all the things that could have happened to me, being an exchange student in the Strider Manor was definitely~~_  
Oh, Fuck it.  


_The Sky was blue, and I was nervous as I approached the gates of my future residence. I had yet to know what awaited me inside. Maybe was I right to be nervous? But it doesn’t mean the things that happened to me in there were bad, that the people I would meet wouldn’t crush my heart in the most beautiful way. Especially one of them. No, I had no idea about who I was, and what it meant to feel alive. But I was impressed. The Strider Manor was a beautiful residence, iron gates covered in green, rose gardens surrounding a fountain in the center of which stood a beautiful muse. The house itself was classical in style, complete with roman columns. The car that had been sent for me, a slick black Rolls Royce complete with chauffeur, stopped in front of the main entrance. A butler opened the door for me, and bowed slightly. I wasn’t used to this sort of luxury, it felt straight out of a fantasy. I entered the hall, as an honor guest, and there, the whole Strider family was there to welcome me. Their hall was great, marble, with spiral staircases and fresh flower decoration, full of taste and comfort. This is when I saw Dave for the first time.  
_

_Looking back, sometimes I have to tell myself I am romanticizing our first encounter, but all I can remember is his faint, seductive smile, his pricey, well-tailored outfit that was somehow put to shame by his body, the mysterious way he wore shades inside. I have a shiver just bringing up this memory._  
Okay, this had nothing to do with how they met, but that was part of the fantasy, no? Besides, they were merely tweens when they met in real life, had they met later, Karkat was sure it would have gone otherwise. He would have thought Dave his taste, at least, for sure.  


…  
Okay, shut up, it was fiction, thus, romanticizing was permitted. Dave could be rich, and actually smooth, rather than his usual dorkiness draped in a ton of layers of denial. Though his dorkiness was also something Karkat had learned to enjoy. Maybe later in the fiction he could insert that? He could always see.  


_Reaching out his hand to greet me, he said, “Bonjour.”_

Okay Dave was French now.  
No comment.  


_“Avez-vous fait un bon voyage?”_  
« Pas tres pire, » Karkat answered.  


Wait, shouldn’t he use the French keyboard to put accents? Nah.  


_“Je suis tres content de rencontrer vous, » Dave shook my hand.  
_

Karkat was quickly running out of French words he knew and he soon would have to turn to google translate. Why did he even bothered to write the dialogue in French? Literature, goddammit. Plus, French was sexy, just imagining Dave saying these sentences to him…  
No, Karkat, you will not hold a fluttered giggle like a twelve years old girl looking at Taylor Lautner.  
Back to the literature.  


_“Same for me,” I answered, deciding it was time to resort back to English, despite my excellent French._  
I was certain Dave had blushed slightly when I looked flirtily at him. I greeted the rest of the family, then they showed me my room.  
It was a cream and burgundy suite, with a four-poster bed complete with translucent curtains and satin sheets. The room had ebony furniture, and a full-length mirror. The large windows were surrounded with heavy curtains, and a crystal chandelier hung above it. I couldn’t believe it would be my room.  


Mmmmm….okay. It wasn’t a bad beginning. But then, what next? He had an idea of the general outline of the story, but he didn’t really know how to make it come to fruition. He had a scene very clearly in mind though…it was that scene that had haunted him and made him write this in the first place. He could jump to it, and then fill the gaps later on, surely? He might as well write is while it was still hot in his mind…  
Really hot.  
Karkat blushed heavily. This was like indulging in binge-eating double fudge ice cream while listening to Kate and Leopold for the thousandth time. Especially the rooftop date scene. Or the butter scene. Oh fuck. It was getting hot in his room. Who the fuck turned off the A/C? There was no point in going back now.  
Let’s do this.  


_I was sitting on my bed, and he was there, looking tortured. I asked him if anything was wrong._  
_“non, ca va,” he answered._  
_But I could see something was amiss. He looked hesitant for a while, but then he took a decision and came to sit next to me. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. He was dangerously close. I wanted to kiss him so badly._  
_“you know what? Fuck it,” he said./i >_  
_“Language,” I warned him._  
_“Oh, I if you want language, you are going to get language. I have something to tell you. And it is lengthy. And rebellious. Are you sure you want to hear it?”_  
_His face was inches away from mine, his look behind his glasses, daring._  
_“Y…yes,” I stuttered nervously._  
_“All right, here goes nothing,” he said as he removed his glasses to look me straight in the eyes, with that look that took my breath away._  
_“All my life, I have been waiting for you. Before, I thought I could only like girls, but it wasn’t true. I have never loved before. I only ever followed what people had told me. Then you came into my life. And now, my biggest fear is that you will come out of it. You erased the numbers on the grand clock of this house. You bridged a gap between me and heaven. And if you love me too, I could finally cross it. If you didn’t exist, I’d have no reason to do so. Je vous aime, Karkat. M’aimez vous?”_  


This was maybe a bit far-fetched. But it was his unattainable dream. For Dave to declaim him a romantic speech, a real one. It was a double fantasy, because if it was unlikely that Dave loved him, it was even more so to imagine him trying to make it sincere and heartfelt. He would probably rap something ridiculous about homosexuality or something like that. But in his dreams…  


_I blushed, my heart melted in my chest. It cried “yes, yes, yes I love you Dave Strider!” but my mouth couldn’t relay the message. My breath was too far gone for that. Dave’s eyes were full of worry, thinking he had said something wrong, awaiting rejection. My heart couldn’t take it, to see him in such doubt. I couldn’t wait for my breath to come back. So I kissed him. I felt foolish doing so, but the pure electricity I felt when he kissed me back reset my soul entirely. It was pure bliss, his soft mouth tasting mine, enjoying the taste. One of his hand slipped on my thigh, the other behind my waist and I moaned. Please, I told him with my body, please, take me, never go away. Please tell me you love me once again. I want to tell you I love you too. I want to tell it to you with my body, my soul, and my lips. What is a kiss if not a promise? I parted so we could breathe, I looked him in his beautiful red eyes._  
_“So…it is a yes?” he teasingly joked._  
_“Je vous aime, Dave.”_  
_And then he kissed me once again, before I knew it our tongues were dancing a slow, erotic dance. He pushed me back on my bed, and we slid easily against the sheets until we were comfortably horizontal. His hands were holding my arms pinned each side of my head, and we were passionately making out. Our shoes were already off, so was our blazers and belts. If my hands had been free, I would have unbuttoned his shirt in that moment, except he trailed kisses down my neck, sucked and licked gently on many sensitive spots, and I groaned needily._  
_“Fuck me,” I asked him, forgetting my manners._  
_He didn’t wait to be told twice, he unbuttoned my shirt so rapidly I got scared he would rip it off. I wouldn’t have mind. Hands now free, I was doing the same thing to his pants, sliding them down his thighs and, with his help, taking them off and throwing them aside. He kissed down my belly, and as he went down I could feel his erection against my leg. Holy cow! I was getting hard myself. He was telling me again and again how much loved me, how much he wanted me, and I whispered back, because I was breathless, that I felt the same way. He took off my pants and the rest of his clothes, and once again was up against my neck, nibbling at the skin of my neck. I could feel his member against my hip. I realized in this instant I wanted him inside me more than anything I had ever wanted, more than to receive honor distinctions at my College, more than to become a famous writer. He took the lube from the drawer, and then applied it and slipped inside me, making me gripe at the sheets, and emit a loud, guttural sound. He himself released a strong breath in my neck, and suddenly I could feel his muscles tense, his manly sweat, and his hot breath in my neck. He rocked back and forth and it felt great, tension building in my body. He arched down and licked my hard nipples, playing with them while continuing to rock back and forth, while we both panted heavily._  
_It lasted for a while before I felt myself close to orgasming. I moaned a little louder, and so did he, and we came both at the same time, and we cried each other’s names and fell into one another’s arms, finally contented. He kissed me again, softly, and he caressed my face. I don’t remember how many times we said “I love you,” but no matter how many times we said it, it never felt enough. And we promised ourselves to do it again and again, every time we could, to make love like this._  


Hrmrmrm. Karkat might have gotten a little carried away there, forgetting what he was writing about, or who, rather. This was definitely too much. Enjoyable, but wayyy too much for having it written down on his computer. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to delete the document. He saved it under the name “chemistry homework” Here. The perfect crime. Fuck. This was out of hand. And ridiculous. Who was he kidding? This thing was pure shit. Probably not realistic, either. But what even was first-time sex supposed to be like? All he had was those cheesy rom coms and unhelpfully unrealistic romance novels. Most of it involving straight sex.  
And also these images in his head had made him unreasonably turned on. He had jacked off to the thought of Dave many times, he was used to it, but without really knowing where the limit was, it felt like his case was getting worse and worse with every day.  
He closed his laptop. He needed a break. Maybe one with his hands down his pants and his mind in self-hatred mode.

**Author's Note:**

> The French is purposefully bad, do not take any of it to use on anybody else. You'll look ridiculous.


End file.
